


Difficult Love Confessions

by Luce_cm



Series: Drabbles Week 1 [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Implied/Referenced Anxiety, Implied/Referenced Violence, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-08 20:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15937472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luce_cm/pseuds/Luce_cm
Summary: “This isn’t easy for me. I’ve never… Not like this. But. You matter to me. A lot.”





	Difficult Love Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt from @promptlywritingideas on Tumblr. All credit for the prompt is theirs, and I own nothing except the story.

It is early in the morning, when you are already nursing your second cup of coffee by the window of Bucky’s apartment when you hear the telltale sounds of him waking up and his swift morning routine.

Before long, you feel his arms wrapping around you, scruffy face hidden in your neck as you lean back and rest your weight on his strong chest. Bucky whispers his morning greeting in your ear, voice still scratchy from sleep, and prompting you to close your eyes as you respond in kind.

“You are up early.” He mentions as you gently sway from side to side, strong arms wrapped around your midriff and your hands resting softly on his forearms as you go with the motions.

“Mm-hmm,” You mumble, eyes closed and head resting on his shoulder, a smile turning up your lips when you feel a soft press of his lips on your jaw. “I have to go by my apartment, take a shower and change before work.”

A beat of silence, an almost imperceptible twitch on the hands resting on your stomach; and you are set on edge by whatever it’s making Bucky anxious on a quiet morning like this one.

He clears his throat twice before speaking, and although you keep your eyes closed, you know he is avoiding looking at your face. Years of training -even if not voluntary- have conditioned him to identify key twitches and minimal changes in a person’s expression, giving away their thoughts.

You know he tries to avoid using his skill when it comes to his personal life, especially with you; because even after months of being by his side, getting to know him and showing him you are here to stay if he wills it so, you seem to always keep him somewhat uneasy, as if he is waiting every time you look his way to see something other than the affection and care you have always tried to show him. Hence, he doesn’t usually try to read your expression or body language if he can help it.

Bucky stops the gentle swaying you were doing together in the middle of the kitchen before he tentatively starts, “You know…y-you could bring some of your stuff here. Or…all of it? If you want.”

“Bucky, are you asking me to move in?”

“No, I…yes? Maybe?”

A smile tugs at your lips, even though your heart is lodged in your throat as you await his answer.

“Bucky…”

The brunet takes a deep breath, letting go of you with his metal hand to run it through his disheveled hair in a nervous gesture, “You live in the bad part of Brooklyn, doll. Trust me, I would know. I just…”

“I’m safe there.” You interrupt softly, but it does not do much to settle his mind.

“Are you? Because when I was in your apartment I identified seventeen different ways to break in.”

“That’s because you were an assassin, love. New York thugs aren’t usually that smart.”

Your horrible attempt at lightening the conversation works somehow, because the man in front of you offers you a small, tightlipped and almost sad smile, and brings your body once again closer to his. Letting your nose trace the skin over his collarbone lightly, you delight yourself in the way a small tremor runs through his body.

After a few beats of comfortable silence, however, Bucky speaks again, voice merely a mumble that you have to work to hear, but that breaks your heart nonetheless when you do. It is not the words themselves alone, no, it is the defeat mixed with anger, the tired fear, the sorrowful acceptance that makes your eyes burn when you lift your gaze to his haunted expression.

“Hydra won’t send thugs to hurt you.”

It is with a sigh that threatens to give away the way your heart aches for him that you turn around in his arms, facing him directly and lifting your hands to take his face between your palms. Your thumbs rhythmically caress his cheekbones, under the slightly visible bags under his eyes, well aware the discernible pattern in your touch, the predictable back and forth of your thumbs on his skin calms him easily.

“Bucky,” You start, the nickname turned badge of identity rolling off your tongue with ease, “They know nothing of me. I am just a civilian in their eyes, no contact with you, no traceable links to anyone of note. Tony…”

“Tony made sure of it, I-I know. I just…” Another deep breath, hands reaching up to hold on to your wrists, not in a possessive grip, but in a secret reassurance to himself that you are really there. Lowering his forehead to yours, he whispers, as if his next words are the greatest of faults, the most dangerous of admissions, “Doll, this isn’t easy for me. I’ve never…” The words die on his lips, the part of him fearfully warning him about Hydra’s all-observing eyes making his throat close and his hands tremble. But he pushes on nonetheless, “Not like this. But. You matter to me. A lot.”

“I know, baby. And you ‘matter’ to me too,” The teasing edge to your choice of words is not lost to either of you, and you earn a small twist of Bucky’s lips that sends warmth through your veins. You lean up to press your lips to his lightly, only a gentle press of your mouth to his, before you stand up in your tiptoes, embracing him tightly. Your voice is muffled against his shirt when you speak, “But they don’t get to rule over your choices anymore. Not even through fear should they decide how you live your life.”

“I can’t let them take you from me, doll, I…” You stop his anxious rant silently as your hand starts combing through his hair, as your lips press lightly over the shirt-covered skin of his shoulder.

“They won’t,” You assure easily, the promise easy to make although you are well aware is won’t be as easy to keep, “You want to know how I know?”

His voice is lighter, his shoulders not as tightly holding on to tension as he chuckles, and gives in, “Enlighten me, angel.”

“I have pepper spray on my purse,” You say, voice a whisper as if you are telling a dangerous secret. The happy smile on his plump lips is well worth the theatrical you put up. “And a supersoldier on my bed most nights.”

“Is that right?” Bucky purrs as his lips find the spot in your neck that makes your knees buckle, and a raspy laugh follows his actions when he notices your reaction to his touch.

“Yeah,” You breathe out, and just because you refuse to admit defeat, you add with a mocking edge to your voice, “Between you and me, I trust him a little bit more than the pepper spray.”

“Bet you do.” Bucky teases, a loud laugh escaping your lips as he lifts you up and over his shoulder.


End file.
